


the art of scraping through

by begforyourmercy



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Bottom Armitage Hux, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylux - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Kylo Ren, Sickfic, Top Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/begforyourmercy/pseuds/begforyourmercy
Summary: While planetside, Hux picks up a dangerous virus. Everything is fine, until it absolutely isn't.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 159





	the art of scraping through

  
  


When Hux comes back to the Finalizer, he has a cough. 

It has been seventy-three hours since he was last aboard. Work didn’t often demand he separate himself from the glorious ship he’d become so familiar with, but when it did, it didn’t take no for an answer. It was a rare occasion to find himself planetside, but not entirely out of the question - parted from his lovely vessel only for as long as he could bear, trading tasks of simple delegation of duty and silent supervision for much bigger things like overseeing weapons testing and swaying a planet’s support in their favor over the Rebel scum. It was tedious and time-consuming and notably Hux’s least favorite part of his job. But he did it all with his head held high, for the good of the First Order.

This trip was blessedly short. Seventy-three hours, and it’s over and done with; he’s back aboard, his usual schedule resumed. Most of the crew took no note of his absence.

Kylo Ren counted the minutes.

His boots click sharply on the polished floor of the corridors as he strides toward the bridge. Shift changes at five; he’s early, but today, he planned for it. 

Since Kylo’s completion of training under Snoke, he’d found himself in what he thought was quite the unfortunate position at first: tasked with helping the fiery General take down what was left of the broken factions of the New Republic, as well as the loathsome Resistance stragglers that still clung to hopes of taking them on. To say the two co-commanders butted heads at first was an understatement - they seethed with hatred and bitterness and jealousy toward one another, vying for first place in the Supreme Leader’s cruel cast of favorites. 

That was, until they finally realized they had a few things in common. To name some: drive, determination, and a surprising lust for one another lingering just behind the eyes. 

(It was entirely accidental, that first falling into bed together. One minute they were in the throes of another fight, red-faced and angry and hoarse with the intensity of unrestrained emotion - and the very next, there were mouths smashing together and clothes coming off and  _ stars, so that’s what that pale skin looks like all over.  _ Purely accidental - until it happened a few weeks later, and a week after that, and then again a few nights on.) 

Hux had been in Kylo’s bed mere hours before he had left. It made it that much harder to wait three days until Kylo could see him again - missing sweetest skin on skin, longing for the sharp bite of his mouth. 

Their shifts had been synced for quite some time now. Sweeping through opposite doors within ticks of each other, meeting in the same spot at the center of the bridge with footfalls in perfect unison - their typical routine was planned down to the very parsec. A well-oiled machine; prim, proper, every inch the professional co-commanders they ought to be. Exceptionally good at pretending that they weren’t tearing at each other’s clothes and leaving well-hidden hickeys behind only hours before. 

This morning, as Kylo’s stride carries him to the center of the bridge, he wonders if there’s an extra spring in his step. Hux’s jackboots, when they come to full stop, are a half-second behind.

“General Hux,” Kylo greets him. Prim, proper, professional.

Hux nods, equally as cordial. “Ren.”

They stare out the port window into the deep expanse of space before them. Hux watches the stars, eyes focused and concentration unwavering; Kylo steals sidelong glances at him in between pretending to look at the holomonitors around them. 

“How was your assignment?” He asks, eyes forward again. “All was well, I presume?”

“Quite well, thank you.” Hux absently straightens his greatcoat, idles with the cufflinks on his uniform. 

In his brief moment of distraction, Kylo allows himself to take the full sight of him in: immaculate as ever, with his neatly gelled hair and calm, unshakable expression. He has to stop himself from thinking how much nicer he’d look the opposite way: undressed, disheveled, spread out underneath him in between the sheets. It makes his ears hot with embarrassment. 

“The savages didn’t give you too much trouble, I hope? I don’t want to have to pay them a visit so soon, the last one did cost them a civilization or two-”

“No, no, of course not. All was well.”

And then, Hux coughs.

It’s small - almost imperceptible, really, minute enough to be mistaken for a clearing of the throat or a harsh breath. But Kylo notices it anyway. He catches onto the slightest variation in Hux’s cadence, a deepness to the resonance in his chest that wasn’t there before. Hux catches the cough behind a gloved hand and says a soft  _ excuse me _ as if it’s nothing to worry about. 

A thought crosses Kylo’s mind, flying past like a fleeting shadow. The thought is wordless but definitely not weightless. It’s a picture of Hux, stepping out of the Finalizer’s toxin-screened and bacteria-filtered air and into the raw terrain of a rural Outer Rim planet. Boots kicking up the leaves, dirt and mud clinging to the tails of his coat. Caught outside in a sudden flurry of rain. Not much exposure to an unfamiliar outside world - but enough to cause a change. 

Enough to get him sick, perhaps. 

“And the weather?” Kylo presses, voice casual while his mind runs circles around itself. He waits with bated breath, hoping another cough doesn’t come. “Fair? Not too cold, or rainy?”

Hux side-eyes him, a split-second glance of suspicion that makes Kylo’s face flush. “Fine, Ren,” he assures, one eyebrow wrinkled as he drags his attention back to the port window once more. “A bit windy, but fine.”

A long pause. Kylo begins to relax, shoulder tension dropping away. 

And then Hux coughs again. 

Kylo looks at him, long and pointed. Hux keeps staring straight ahead to just as pointedly ignore him. Through the Force, Kylo just barely, imperceptibly, skims the very top of Hux’s mind - sees just the imprints of the racing thoughts and the flashes of mental images that reside there. It doesn’t take him long to hear the faintest echo of the word  _ sick _ flung haphazardly across Hux’s subconscious.

“Get out of my head, Ren,” Hux growls out loud, just under his breath so their subordinates can’t hear.

Kylo looks away in obedience, but can’t help the cocky quirk of his eyebrow jutting upward. “Of course, General,” he obliges, hoping the subtle notes of sarcasm bleed through. “I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re not feeling well.”

Hux’s glance cuts to the side, fixing Kylo with a glare befitting the enemy. “I feel  _ fine _ ,” he all but snaps. He does his best to remain calm, but there’s a certain rigid set to his jaw- subtle irritation, only in the form that Kylo could manage to bring out. “And even if I didn’t, it isn’t your position to worry about it.”

“I’m just expressing my concern-” 

Another glare cuts him off. Kylo clamps his mouth shut. He fights to keep a crooked, smug grin from creeping up onto his face; how he missed this, this picking and poking and playful bickering, even if it was only for a moment in time.

They fall silent as the whole of space glitters before them. 

“So, about that cough-”

“Oh, just do your karking job.”

\-----

  
  


Later that night, Kylo begins to think he may have overreacted. If Hux really were coming down with something, he wouldn’t be showing up at Kylo’s door in the middle of the sleep cycle. 

When he opens it to find Hux standing there - half-clothed, bedroom-eyed, and probably more than a little wine drunk - Kylo doesn’t hesitate for a second. He’s on him, pulling him close the moment he steps inside; lips hungry, hands roaming, blood thrumming with want too primal to be put into words. They stumble to the bedroom, shedding clothing and formality with each intertwined step. 

Here is where the line starts to blur - where his fictions and fantasies flesh out, where he can play pretend that Hux is all his and his alone. Here is where Hux lets him. 

“I missed this,” Kylo growls, pushing Hux down to lie beneath him.

“Show me how much,” Hux says in turn, fingers tangling roughly into Kylo’s hair to pull him in close.

It’s different this time: still intense, still violent and rife with need, but slowed to a laggard pace. Hux’s skin is slick with sweat, muscles tense with unknown exhaustion long before a climax is ever reached. His breaths are hard and dangerously fast. But the skin on skin is just as thrilling as the first time. The sweet sound of his moans,  _ don’t stop _ and  _ more _ and  _ harder _ tumbling from his lips. The delicate throat under Kylo’s hand. The lingering kisses that almost convince him that they want the same thing. 

When it’s done, they collapse side by side on top of the sheets, lust drained down to its last dregs. Hux still gasps for air; he leans into Kylo, head on his shoulder as his eyes drift closed. 

Kylo longs to pull him close. He’s about to, body turning, arms open -

But Hux is already rising from the bed, slipping right through Kylo’s fingers and throwing on his clothes before any protest can be heard. “It’s just sex, Ren,” he pants, still halfway out of breath as he straightens himself back out. Tucking the raw, vulnerable parts of him carefully behind a mask; back to formality, as if this whole thing never happened. 

And then he disappears into the night. 

Kylo knows the blow is coming before he even says it, but still feels the sharp sting. He doesn’t ask him to stay anymore - knows what the answer would be, even if he did. No amount of mentioning how late in the cycle it is, or how he hates the left side of the bed getting cold, or  _ can’t you sleep here, just for one night?  _ would ever persuade him. Hux says no without saying the word; instead he mutters  _ It’s just sex, Ren, _ and then he’s out of sight until the next day breaks upon them. Rinse, repeat. Night after night after night. 

After Hux leaves, Kylo can’t fall asleep.

He lies awake, staring emptily at the ceiling; listens to the whirrs and ticks of the ship around him, hoping it will help ease him into unconsciousness. It doesn’t. He tries pacing - counts out the entire area of his quarters with measured, even footsteps. And then again, and again. Still his mind swirls with anxious thoughts that cling and cloy like smoke. 

(It’s all Hux. That’s all it ever seems to be these days. Only now, it’s Hux and those strange little coughs. It’s Hux with a head echoing  _ sick _ and sweat dripping from his too-pale skin and exhaustion weighing down his lithe limbs.)

He really shouldn’t be this worried. Shouldn’t be pacing the floors of his own quarters, worried about the welfare of a man who goes out of his way to hold him at arm’s length. To tease, to almost give in, and then pull out of reach just to watch the hurt dance in his eyes. He shouldn’t care about someone who doesn’t care about him.

And yet. 

\-----

The next morning, Kylo has to triple check the time, thinking he’s early to the bridge. He isn’t - same time as always, right on the dot at shift change. It’s Hux who is late. A few minutes tick by, then another handful; this cycle’s crew of the bridge is already starting to get nervous, exchanging anxious glances with one another in between data readings and comm signals received and sent. None of them look Kylo’s way, but they’re all painfully aware of him standing alone in the middle of the room. 

At fifteen minutes past the hour, Hux sweeps into the room: gravely pale, hair barely styled, eyes sunken in and red-ringed as if he hasn’t slept in days. When Kylo greets him as always - _ General Hux _ , prim, proper, professional - he’s greeted by nothing but silence and an ice-filled stare. Another cough slips past his lips; worse this time, with a sharpness that makes Kylo’s own chest start to ache. 

He comes to a full stop at Kylo’s side. “Ren,” he replies back - if one could call the rasp-grate of his voice a response. His breathing is audibly hindered - a thin wheeze of air, wind scraping through a broken window. 

It’s clear as daylight now: Hux is ill. He’s  _ quite _ ill - to the point here he probably shouldn’t be here right now. 

But no one has the heart - or enough of a death wish - to say anything to him, not even Kylo. Unlike the rest of the crew here, he knows exactly where Hux keeps his blaster (right hip, clipped to his belt) and his knife (left leg, strapped to his thigh) and doesn’t want to push his luck today. So Hux works a full shift: unsteady on his feet, drained of all color, coughing growing worse with every parsec ticking by. His commanding cadence fails him completely by midday; out of pure stubbornness alone, he resorts to whispering his orders instead of letting Kylo run the show. 

Kylo lingers in his shadow all day, uneasy. At shift change, Hux is bolting out the door. 

Against his better judgement, Kylo starts to follow. He knows he should just leave Hux alone. Hux doesn’t want his sympathy, his worry - he won’t care that Kylo is offering even an ounce of fretting on his behalf.  _ And yet… _

He finds himself at the door of Hux’s quarters. The door is locked, keypad glowing red to let the world know it was sealed up from the inside. 

Kylo still knocks. “Hux?”

From the inside, muffled footsteps; a heavy-something hitting the ground, most likely Hux’s greatcoat. (Or Hux, but he tries not to dwell on that.) When the footfalls come to an end, indistinguishable if they’re near or far, Kylo knocks again. “Hux, it’s me,” he ventures, voice soft and low, listening for any sounds of rustling or voices from the other side. 

Nothing comes. No more footsteps, no murmurs of sound. 

“Hux, I -” He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do, standing here shut out like this. Not knowing if Hux is even listening. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Silence only follows. Maybe the slightest  _ thump _ of a footstep from beyond the door - but it might’ve just been his imagination. 

This feels stupid. Stupid and naive of him, to be waiting doggedly outside of Hux’s door, as if he doesn’t have a thousand other places to be, a million other things to get done. It feels even more stupid to admit to himself that even though he knows he has places he  _ should _ be, this is the only place that he  _ wants _ to be. Kylo squashes this familiar yearning down, makes it smaller and smaller inside him until it’s almost emptied from the caverns of his heart. But it’s not gone completely. Never gone; always destined to come crawling back. 

Kylo waits around outside the door for another handful of moments before deciding enough is enough. “If you need me, I’ll be here,” he says at last, sounding maybe a little too sincere for his own good. And then he turns on his heel and leaves.

\----

On the third day, Hux doesn’t come to the bridge. 

At first, Kylo is relieved. In all the time he’d known him, Hux had never taken a single day off - he’d work himself into the grave if it was for the good of the Order. Perhaps he’d finally realized it was time for a break. And the general mocked Kylo for being stubborn, when he himself wore the crown quite well. 

But the crew remains uneasy. They run their reports, send their comms; they brief him on what took place during his own sleep cycle and let him know the goings-on of the day still ahead of them. Yet tension hangs palpably in the air between every living being, and though nothing has yet emerged as wrong, the absence of the person in charge of making everything  _ right _ feels like a reckless, reckless thing. 

Kylo is staring out the bay window into blackened space - teeth on edge, mind on Hux - when he spots Mitaka making nervous rounds about the control panels. He’s meandering slowly, distractedly; even from a distance, Kylo can see the single drop of sweat seated on his brow. 

“Lieutenant,” Kylo addresses the nearly jittering subordinate as he comes to a halt on Kylo’s left, watching as he jumps nearly out of his skin. “Is there a problem?”

Mitaka looks startled -  _ he always looks remarkably started, _ Kylo pauses his train of thought to ponder,  _ maybe it’s just his face? _ He’d never liked him much, always so cowardly and on edge - but after a moment of scrambling in stunned silence, the lieutenant swallows down his fear and nods in comprehension. “It’s the General, sir,” he concedes, struggling to maintain steady eye contact. “He’s - he’s late to his shift again.”

Kylo feels his brow wrinkle. “Late? He didn’t take a leave of absence today?”

“No, sir. He’s still on the schedule.”

Kylo hums; chews anxiously at the inside of his cheek. Still vying for optimism, he asks, “Any new updates we didn’t catch? Maybe a message -”

But Mitaka sharply shakes his head. 

Kylo feels dread begin to curl up against the base of his spine, climbing its way up his back until it hangs its heavy paws over his shoulders. Hux being late once was enough to throw the whole bridge off kilter, and being late twice seemed to cause widespread panic - as much as Kylo hoped this whole thing would blow over, he had a hunch he was going to have to get his hands dirty. 

He holds the fear at bay, does his best to keep his emotions in check. “Did anyone try to contact him? Send him a comm?”

“Three times,” Mitaka replies instantly, the shake of his hands evident as he clenches his fists at his sides, “but he didn’t answer any of them-”

Kylo turns away, a curse muttered under his breath. If Mitaka said any more, he didn’t catch it.  _ Hux _ , he thinks - and his mind begins to bend outward unconsciously, tendrils of the Force searching the ether for the elusive man he sought. Thinking, feeling, asking:  _ Hux, Hux, where are you? _

And then the world goes sideways.

He feels it hit him like a ton of bricks: a sudden shift in the air, a hard blow that sucks the breath from his lungs and nearly knocks him off his feet. A sonic  _ boom _ resonates in his ears, vibrates through his chest cavity; numbness spreads like a wildfire down his stunned limbs. The epicenter of this spectral Force bomb going off is painfully close - his gut drops ten floors below, and suddenly he can’t speak, can’t think,  _ can’t breathe _ . “ _ Hux _ ,” he gasps out, when his lungs finally return to him.  _ Hux is in danger. _

Kylo’s mouth goes dry; his hands are fists. “Lieutenant,” he spits out amidst the storm gathering in his ribcage, already turning to stalk out of the room, “you have the bridge.”

\-----

Kylo doesn’t know what to expect when he arrives at Hux’s room, but dead silence isn’t it.

The keypad still glows an angry red; sealed up from the inside, no visitors allowed. But simple things like doors or locks have never hindered Kylo much. A temporary placeholder, done away with a wave of his hand. The pad flashes green - an audible  _ click _ sounds as the door glides open. Inside, Hux’s quarters are dark as night. The stillness - the absence of sight, sound,  _ anything _ \- sets a chill loose down Kylo’s spine. 

“Hux?” he calls out, voice swallowed by the static air. “Hux, are you in here?”

Nothing answers him. On timid feet, Kylo creeps in, the dim halo of light from the hallway leaking in to guide his steps. 

Even in the absence of fluorescents, Kylo can tell Hux’s chambers are up to their usual spotless standards: floors swept and gleaming, ice-blue couch unwrinkled, dishes washed and stacked in the kitchenette. The small stack of books on the end table is left untouched, save for the top-most novel, flipped upside down and left open to the page Hux must’ve left off on. Everything seems normal; it all looks normal, at least. 

One thing, however, is out of the ordinary: the door to Hux’s bedroom is left ajar. Only a crack - not enough to see in. But enough to notice it. Enough to make worry bubble up in Kylo’s veins. 

He heads toward the open door. 

Here is where dread starts to set in. Here is where it all begins to feel like a bad dream - like he could wake up at any moment, sprawled out peacefully in his own bed with hours to go until morning. Maybe Hux really had stayed over that night, safe and sound and tucked up under his arm. But the more he blinks hard and pinches himself, the more aware he feels; the more he knows that this dreaded moment is encompassed in reality. Now he wishes he were asleep.  _ There _ sounds like an awfully nice place to be. Not  _ here _ . Not here, breaking into Hux’s quarters to make sure he’s alright. Not here, tiptoeing toward Hux’s bedroom, heart in his throat.

Not here, where he can see nothing but the stark absence of light. He holds his breath in fear of what he’ll find hiding in it. 

And then a weak, weak whisper calls out to him. 

“Ren?”

Kylo exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Hux?” 

“Ren,” the whisper rasps again. “Ren…”

As he inches in, the bedroom’s auto lights click on, illuminating the entire scene in all its gruesome glory: Hux, half-clothed, hunched over on the far edge of his bed; head bowed toward the wall, limbs curled in on themselves as he struggles and strains for air. His skin is pale as death; each harsh breath saws its way through his chest. Wine-dark stains litter the room surrounding him - the carpeted floor, the white silk sheets, handprints smudged on nightstands and walls and pillows. When he lifts his head, stunned and disoriented by the light, Kylo sees the whole left side of his face is swollen and smeared with bright, fresh blood. 

_ Oh, stars _ . Kylo feels his body tipping forward, stumbling feet propelled closer to Hux before his mind can even have time to react. “Hux, what happened?” he asks frantically, hands fluttering back and forth to different parts of him: his arms, his face, his hands, his trembling shoulders. 

“How did you -” Hux swallows, an unhealthy, guttural sound. “How did you get in -”

“What did you do to your face?  _ Kriff _ , Hux, there’s blood everywhere -”

“I need you - I need you to -” Hux gasps out, shaking hands trying in vain to swat Kylo’s away, “to help me - help me get to… to medbay.”

“Hux, why in hells did you wait?” Kylo grabs the edge of a bedsheet and tears off a long strip; as gentle as his large hands can be, he wipes away the mess of red from Hux’s face, revealing a deep, seeping cut just underneath a pinched-shut, blackened eye. “You should’ve gone yesterday - you could’ve asked me before, I would’ve helped you -”

“I - I’m asking  _ now _ .” Hux pushes his hands away again. “Just… help me up.”

Kylo hesitates - it would be easier to call a medbay team here, to keep him still and in bed until someone can come get him. But stubborn Hux would never let such a thing happen - not as long as he was still conscious enough to argue. Kylo longs to scoop him up, gather the whole of him into his arms; instead, he softly slings one of Hux’s arms over his broad shoulders, and once secure, he slides the other man off the edge of the bed until his unsteady feet touch the ground. For a brief moment, his head lolls onto Kylo’s shoulder; the nasty gash just under his eye seeps watery blood down his neck and onto the front of his nightshirt. Before they start moving, Kylo checks his pulse; it thrums like a hummingbird’s wings, quickened and stuttering and fainter than air. His body burns with unseen fire. 

Hux needs help - and needs it now, before precious time ticks itself away. Kylo tightens his grip on Hux and begins the long walk to medbay. “Come on, Hux, keep going,” Ren murmurs under his breath every ten steps, being mindful that his boots don’t crush the general’s thin bare toes. “Come on, come on, just a little faster.”

“I’m - going,” Hux murmurs back, in between sharp gasps for air, “as fast as I… bloody can.”

_ Not fast enough _ , Kylo wants to say. Instead, he says, “I know.”

\-----

In a matter of minutes, Hux is IV’ed, wired, white-gowned, and swathed in a bundle of medbay issue blankets. By some Maker-granted miracle, he manages to stay conscious through all of it. Kylo stands off to the side as the medbay techs swarm around the room: a silent shadow, tucked away in the corner to observe their care of the General. He tenses at every needle injection; clenches his fists at every test and scan and painful poke the techs put Hux through. As the wild activity starts to wind down, his scan results start to come in: black-and-blue images of Hux’s chest cavity take up the medbay screens, a nauseating sight to even the untrained eye. Fluid surrounding his lungs lights up lightning bright - and  _ massive _ \- on the scans. “We’re not quite sure what’s causing it yet, but regardless, we’ll have to drain it,” one of the techs tells them; based on the queasy look that flashes across her face, Kylo can only guess it isn’t a comfortable procedure. 

The room momentarily empties, leaving just the two of them to sit in silence. Kylo detaches from the corner and comes to rest in the chair beside his bed; Hux’s tired eyes stay glued to the illuminated horror before him. “Huh,” is all that Hux can mutter. “That… explains some things.”

Kylo hums tacitly in response. The cut under Hux’s eye is mostly cleaned, but still left open and bleeding; it weeps a little river down Hux’s cheek, about to drip off the sharp line of his jaw. Kylo finds a cotton pad laying about and unfolds it. “Hold still,” he orders; one hand gently reaches out and grips Hux’s chin, while the other begins to press the cotton pad against the gash. 

“Ow,” Hux murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away.

“How did you manage this?” Kylo leans in closer to look at the split in Hux’s pale skin, watching it well up with blood again and again.

“I remember… falling,” Hux confesses, albeit with uncertainty. “Not much else -  _ kriff,  _ Ren, that  _ hurts _ .”

Kylo lightens his hand, if only just a little. “Consider yourself lucky, General. If you weren’t bleeding out and fighting for air right now,” he says, frustration mixing with fondness, “I think I’d probably wring your neck.”

“I’m not -” Hux grumbles a curse under his breath, flinching when Kylo presses too hard again. “I’m not  _ dying _ , Ren. I’ve got too -” he pauses, turns away for a gut-wrenching cough, “- too much to do. I’ll be… I’ll be out by tomorrow -”

“You’ll be here as long as you need to,” Kylo fires back, hands finally dropping from his face. “Don’t worry about the Order. Whatever needs to get done, I’ll make sure it gets done.”

Hux eyes him, glare full to the brim with skepticism. 

Their moment alone ends when the team of techs sweeps into the room once more. “Alright, let’s get that fluid out, General,” the same tech as before announces, as those behind her make ready to seal and lock the room doors. “Lord Ren, will you be stepping out, or joining us?”

“Ren is - is not staying,” Hux wheezes in reply.

But Kylo looks at him pointedly, shaking his head. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says firmly. 

“I’m -  _ fine _ ,” Hux chokes out, around and amongst coughs and gasps of air. “You need to - to work, Ren… you need to go and -”

“You’re  _ not _ fine,” he says to Hux, “and I’m not leaving. Not yet.”

They lock eyes. Hux stares him down, sharply, determinedly. Kylo matches his intensity head on.

In the background of their stalemate, the techs get their tools assembled in a hurry. Kylo sees Hux clock the materials: the mile-long needles, scalpels, the drainage tube as thick as his thumb. What little color he had drains entirely from his face. “Alright, I give up,” Kylo feigns to concede, lifting one shoulder in a falsely-defeated shrug. “If you really want me to leave, I’ll leave...”

He begins to walk away toward the door. Waiting for it:  _ three, two, one… _

“Ren… ” Hux hesitates. Kylo looks back over his shoulder; sees Hux glance at the instruments of pain, then back to Kylo. “You can… you can stay.”

With a nod, Kylo comes to rest once more in the chair beside his bed. 

They pull away the top half of Hux’s gown, exposing his pale chest to the chill medbay air. One arm is propped up with a pillow to reveal his ribs. As they begin to numb him, Hux’s eyes drift up to the ceiling, jaw clenched tightly in anticipation of pain; when he feels the first pinches of the incision, his eyes flutter closed, and takes a sharp breath of air in as if steeling himself for the rest. 

The tube comes next: agonizingly slow and uncomfortable, despite the surface numbing. Kylo, silently and sincerely, offers up a hand. At first, Hux shuns it; but as the tube begins to sink in deeper, growing more and more vexatious with each millimeter, his shaky hand slowly closes around Kylo’s palm, squeezing tighter and tighter until his knuckles whiten.

“You’re alright,” Kylo tries to soothe. 

“I - I know I am,” Hux stammers, jaw still locked shut. “How … much left?”

“Just a little bit more,” he says. It takes every ounce of strength not to bring the hand he holds up to his lips. 

Kylo watches the tube with an anxious gaze; as it sinks in to its final markings, a thick, yellowed fluid starts to flow through, and Hux’s tight breathing begins to ease, if only in the slightest. The techs suture the edges of the incision, making the seal as airtight as possible, and then wrap it with gauze. 

Even when it’s all over and done with, it still takes Hux a minute to drop Kylo’s hand. His frozen fingers finally unclench, and he sinks back into himself once more, arms crossed over his chest as best he can without bumping the newly placed tube. “That wasn’t… so bad,” he murmurs, half-bitter. “Could’ve done that in my sleep.”

But there is a rosy tint to his pallid cheeks; the slightest hint of burning at the tops of his ears. Kylo doesn’t need to use the Force to know what he’s thinking here and now. He’s embarrassed - to be stuck in such a state, helpless and caught unawares. To be seen like this, tethered to a bed, numbed and drooling and unable to even sit up on his own. And most of all, to give into an act of weakness that the General loathed showing: needing someone, needing  _ anyone _ , even when in the grips of deepest pain. 

“I know you could’ve.” Kylo watches him as Hux looks the other away; takes in his swollen cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes, and feels his heart give a lurching, painful throb. “But you don’t have to do it alone, you know.”

Hux casts a glance at him, looking up from under his pale lashes. Slowly, he raises one weak, IV-taped-up hand; Kylo watches in astonishment as Hux’s fingers come to rest against his arm, brushing back and forth, lightly, soothingly. But before Kylo can reach out and trap the thin hand within his own, Hux pulls it back into his lap, and turns his head away.

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbles, half into his pillow. “Now… don’t you… have somewhere to be?”

Kylo scoffs out a chuckle; shakes his head, trying to clear away the blush creeping up on him. “You’re unbelievable.” He stands, and heads out at last for the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow, General. Try not to die before then, okay?”

“Ren,” Hux calls out after him, “If I get back… and my ship is in disarray, I’ll-”

“Get some rest, Hux.”

The door closes behind him. Kylo closes his eyes, pauses for a breath; in, out, desperately seeking calm.  _ Please, get some rest. _

\-----

Kylo doesn’t get the chance to check in before his shift the next morning - not with the absent General’s obnoxiously polished jackboots to fill. He works all day to keep the Order in tip-top shape. It’s not easy, one person taking on the load usually carried by two; his mind strays more often than not to that little corner of medbay, wondering if the stubborn General is feeling better yet, or sinking down deeper into his mysterious illness.

_ He’ll be alright, _ Kylo reminds himself over and over again, both to soothe his anxiety and keep himself on task. He even borrows a familiar line of Hux’s:  _ And even if he isn’t, it’s not my damn job to worry about it. _ He tries his best to put Hux out of his mind altogether.

It almost works. Kylo digs his heels into the day shift: barking orders, watching his own volatile temper, keeping the lid on the near-boiling pot the bridge without Hux has become. He’s just starting to find his rhythm, to fully hit his stride - 

And then his datapad pings. Regretfully, he turns his attention to it. 

_ A.HUX: We haven’t crashed into Yavin 4 yet, I see. _

Kylo sighs, instantly exhausted. Though his heart leaps at the sight -  _ Hux! Awake! Reaching out to him and only him! _ \- his stress-addled mind isn’t as welcoming to the sudden distraction. 

_ K.REN: No, Hux. Everything is fine.  _

_ A.HUX: What are our fuel reserve readings at? I can’t access them down here.  _

He sighs again. “Because you’re not supposed to,” he whispers to himself in response, while his hands type a different message altogether. 

_ K.REN: We’re fine on fuel. Don’t worry about it. _

_ A.HUX: That’s almost reassuring, Ren.  _

Before Kylo can quip a snarky message in reply, a new message interrupts him. 

_ A.HUX: I had a meeting with an Imperial warlord on the schedule for today. Thraskis. Corellian. Can I trust you to be civil or shall I reschedule? _

_ K.REN: Corellians? Do we really need more of those? _

_ A.HUX: Ah. Civility is a no, then. _

_ A.HUX: I’m rescheduling.  _

A mad scramble as Kylo struggles to type fast enough. 

_ K.REN: No, don’t reschedule. I’ll go.  _

_ A.HUX: It can wait, Ren, if need be.  _

_ K.REN: It won’t have to. I’ll go, you rest.  _

_ A.HUX: Final answer? No backing out.  _

_ K.REN: I. Will. Go.  _

_ K.REN: Who gave you your datapad, by the way? _

A long pause in between messages. 

_ A.HUX: Just don’t kark this up for me, Ren.  _

Kylo comes close to thumping his head against the nearest table in frustration. Instead, he finds himself biting the inside of his cheek, incredulous, disbelieving laughter let out under his breath. Leave it to Hux - every single time,  _ without fail _ \- leave it to Hux to make things that much more complicated. 

_ K.REN: Get some sleep, Hux. I can handle this. _

The day shift comes to a close at last - meetings adjourned, deals closed. His feet are sore, back aching something terrible; he wants nothing more than to head back to his quarters and fall face-down on his bed. Instead, he finds himself taking the long hike down to medbay once more. 

Hux is asleep in the quiet room. His heart rate monitor thrums a steady song, but the still-relentless labor of his breathing casts a shadow over the peace of the night. The tight drag-rasp of it ingrains itself into Kylo’s memory: raw, scraping, suffocating. A never-ending amount of yellow-tinged fluid streams from the tube in his chest. He coughs a few times, but his eyes stay closed. 

Kylo sits down beside his bed again. “Of course,” he mutters, through a worn-out sigh. “Of course you would bother me all day, and then be asleep when I can bother you.”

Hux stirs a bit in his sleep; a sharper intake of breath, and a stuttering half-cough out. But he does not wake. 

“I went to your precious meeting today,” Kylo continues softly; he slouches into the chair, feeling half asleep and yearning to curl in on himself. “And I took your fuel readings, and your damn conference calls, and your weapons planning agendas. Everything on your schedule,  _ and _ mine, all in one day.”

Hux’s heart monitor stumbles over itself a little; a few more beeps, and it’s normal again.

“I don’t know why I came down here to tell you all this.” Kylo picks absently at his nails, gnaws the inside of his cheek until it’s raw. It feels so isolating, to sit here and talk to himself; it makes him feel too small, too alone. “You probably wouldn’t care either way, so long as it’s done. But I - well, I thought that maybe you’d… you’d be a little proud of me. For doing what you thought I couldn’t.”

In his slumber, Hux’s face scrunches, contorts into a strange expression. Kylo could almost swear he  _ smiled _ \- and then, just like that, it’s gone. 

“I think I’m always trying to prove myself to you,” Kylo admits, and the room around him becomes a confessional. “In one way or another, I’m always trying to be good enough for you. I don’t know if it’s worth it or not, but… I’m still trying.”

Kylo leaves soon after. It pains him too much to stay. 

Before he goes, he swipes Hux’s datapad off the bedside table and tucks it under his arm - just to be sure Hux is resting, he tells himself. Not at all because the thought of Hux hunched over it in the middle of the night, shaking hands and bruised eyes struggling to type up reports, is enough to give Kylo a stress headache. Not at all because he needs some little piece of Hux to end up staying the night with him. 

He gives Hux one last worried look, and then he leaves. When Kylo lays down to sleep that night, he dreams of that drag-rasp sound. 

**Author's Note:**

> part two will be up soon, loves :)
> 
> haunt my tumblr if you're kylux trash like me - @begforyourmercy


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